


i get to be the other half of you

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brienne loves Jaime but thinks he's ridiculous, F/M, Soulmates, jaime lannister: professional romantic, jaime lannister: the softest boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: “I meant --” Jaime trails off, brow furrowing as he searches for the words to explain the feeling that whispers in the back of his mind. “Do you feel as if we’ve saved each other a million times over?”“I kept you from drowning in a tub. You kept a bear from mauling me. I --”“I meant before,” Jaime tries again. “Before this life. That somehow this has happened before and will happen again, and we have been and will always be this.”--A bit of a soulmate AU. Jaime is a hopeless romantic who is convinced that he and Brienne are soulmates who have always found each other, and will always find each other. He's not wrong.





	i get to be the other half of you

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, an update for preschool teacher!Jaime is coming. This came to me at work today and I sat down and literally wrote every single word of this in one go. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to both dollsome and bethanyactually for taking a pass at this and making it imminently more readable. You are both THE BEST. 
> 
> Also, just imagine that all of these take place in alternate universes. In some of them, magical creatures exist. I've also used years as if they take place in our world, not Westeros' timeline because it's easier and this is a light-hearted fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!!

The firelight is dying down as Jaime traces a path of soft kisses over the fading bruises marring Brienne’s skin. His mouth is still set against the deep purple mark the size of a man’s fist that darkens her collarbone when he looks up at her, relaxed and sated, her eyes closed as she drifts off to sleep.

 

“Do you ever feel that this has happened before?” he whispers, not wanting to wake her if she’s somehow already sleeping.

 

“Yes,” Brienne mumbles back. “Several times over the past week, if memory serves.”

 

Jaime smiles against her shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

Brienne opens one eye to peer at him, curious in spite of how tired she plainly is.

 

“I meant. . .” Jaime trails off, brow furrowing as he searches for the words to explain the feeling that lingers in the back of his mind. “Do you feel as if we’ve saved each other a million times over?”

 

“I kept you from drowning in a tub. You kept a bear from mauling me. I--”

 

“You’re being difficult about this,” Jaime interrupts her, rolling his eyes affectionately.

 

“I don’t see how,” she says, a sleepy sort of confusion in her voice. “That’s what happened.”

 

“I meant _before_ ,” Jaime tries again. “Before this life. That somehow this has happened before and will happen again, and we have been and will always be this.”

 

“I didn’t think even you were egotistical enough to believe you were some prophesied man with a destiny that transcends time.”

 

“Not a prophecy, only --” Jaime flops onto his back beside her, frustrated beyond what’s reasonable for the discussion at hand. “Oh, never mind. I don’t know how to explain it.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

Jaime looks over to find Brienne’s eyes once more closed, her face going slack. It’s not even a full minute before she starts softly snoring, a noise that Jaime never would have imagined would be somehow comforting. He smiles.

 

Tomorrow, he’ll find a way to explain the thought creeping around the edges of his mind.

 

He’s just so _certain_.

 

\--

 

**1730**

 

Brienne watches as the human man crashes through the surface of the sea, plummeting his way to the ocean floor. She hides behind a coral shelf, waiting for him to kick his way out again, only to realize he’s unconscious and bleeding from an unseen wound. She should let him perish. He would hardly be the first sailor to drown or die from wounds during a battle.

 

But something about him draws her closer, some tugging at the center of her chest that tells her to go to him.

 

When she reaches him, he has the most handsome face she’s ever seen. Even covered in an unruly beard, his hair spread out like a golden halo around him, his face ghostly pale as if he’s not seen the sun in too long. She moves before she even has time to consciously make a decision, hooking her arms under his and dragging him to the surface.

 

She manages to push him onto the beach, pulling herself by her arms to rest beside him out of the tide. She presses on his chest again and again, where he is already battered and scarred, what seems like a thousand small wounds decorating his skin. Finally, he coughs up the seawater, turning his head to the side as it pours out of his mouth.

 

He blinks up at her, his eyes hooded and confused. His eyes trail down her body, freezing only slightly on her tail.

 

When he looks back at her face, all he says is, “I thought mermaids were supposed to be beautiful,” and promptly passes out again.

 

Brienne leaves him there.

 

Let the tide take him.

 

This is why her father told her humans weren’t worth a second glance.

 

\--

 

**2015**

 

Jaime knows it was ridiculous to escape out a window. That fact is impossible to avoid once he has to call 911 and report that he’s stuck in a tree, desperately clinging to the trunk and praying to all seven gods that this branch doesn’t snap. Though, to be fair, how was he to know that a 150-year-old oak tree would be so fragile?

 

The operator is confused when he requests that the fire truck not use its lights when it pulls into the driveway, until he explains that he’s escaping a bad situation. Possibly, this is a mild exaggeration. But he can’t add the humiliation of five hundred party guests coming out to look at the spectacle of the heir apparent to his father’s fortune in a situation that only small children and cats should find themselves in.

 

Luckily, the operator relays the message, and after minutes that feel like hours, he sees the red and white truck pulling around the driveway. He uses the flashlight on his cell phone to signal which tree he’s in and soon he sees the fireman ascending the ladder.

 

“I can climb down myself,” he calls out. “I’m not hurt.”

 

“I have to make sure the tree is stable before you do that.”

 

 _Holy shit._ It’s a woman. A powerful-looking woman, but a woman. As if this could be any more mortifying.

 

When she reaches him, she’s not pretty, but she does have the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen.

 

“How did you even get stuck in a tree?” she asks him flatly.

 

“I climbed out a window and the branch just below me snapped, as you can see.”

 

“Okay, let’s try this a different way.” She raises an eyebrow. “Why is a grown man climbing out a window at a house party?”

 

He scowls at her. How dare she judge him.

 

“You haven’t met my father. Or my sister. Or my brother. Or the countless ass-kissing socialites at this party.”

 

“Are they worse than being stuck in a tree and having to be rescued like a kitten?”

 

She has him there. He hates it. But she isn’t wrong.

 

“Are you going to get me out of here or not?” he bites out instead.

 

“Follow me down, don’t step on the next branch, and go slowly.”

 

She speaks to him as if he is a child, instead of an adult. But he’s likely earned it.

 

He follows her down and it’s when they’re finally on the ground that he realizes she’s taller than him. Only a few inches, but enough that he has to look up into her annoyed eyes.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“It’s my job.” She shrugs and starts to walk back to their truck. She looks over her shoulder when she’s halfway there. “Next time, sneak out the back door or garage.”

 

He’s left standing there, feeling like a complete idiot, hands scratched up and burning from the bark.

 

Somehow, he finds he regrets not asking for her number.

 

\--

 

**1816**

 

All Brienne wants is a bit of fresh air, the scent of grass, and a cool breeze away from the stuffiness of the ballroom. The moment she steps onto the balcony, however, she’s confronted with the sight of Lord Casterly fisting his hand in Mr. Connington’s cravat, dragging him close and … well, the only term would be menacing him.

 

Lord Casterly doesn’t often display his anger in public. Oh, he smirks and has one of the sharpest tongues Brienne has ever encountered. But he’s seemingly very aware of his reputation after the deadly duel with the Duke of King’s Landing, Aerys Targaryen. He lost his own right hand in the process, but the Duke lost his life. He’s as yet unmarried and the rumors about his dalliances are almost as well-known as the whispers about the duel.

 

As fellow outcasts, she and Lord Casterly share a dance at each ball. It doesn’t matter, at this point, that he was once one of the men that ignored her as she leant against the wall with the other wallflowers. Brienne is the daughter of a poor house, too tall to be considered ladylike, and broader through the shoulders than many of the men. She is also homely, and well aware of this fact. But when Lord Casterly became an outcast as well, he sought her out more often. They formed a friendship, an unlikely one, but a deep one. She still can’t quite bring herself to call him by his given name, though he insists upon calling her by hers, despite her not giving him leave to do so.

 

But then, Lord Casterly never cares about such things. He also doesn’t care if he holds her a little too closely during the waltz, or compliments her ridiculously, making her flush a brilliant puce in front of everyone. The murmurings about the ugliest maid and the most disreputable man in Westeros float by him like a mere breeze. He stopped insulting her at some point, his harsh words becoming somehow affectionate.

 

Now he’s making a fool of himself, and with an aggrieved sigh, Brienne knows she has no option but to intervene. So much for fresh air and an escape.

 

When she nears him, she can hear the conversation. Lord Casterly is threatening Mr. Connington. From what she can gather, Mr. Connington gravely insulted one of the eligible women and Lord Casterly took great umbrage with it.

 

Brienne clears her throat until Lord Casterly looks up at her, the fury in his eyes barely abating.

 

“Lord Casterly,” she addresses with a small curtsey, in case anyone is paying attention to their darkened corner. “You’re very close to making a spectacle of yourself.”

 

“I don’t care,” he says through gritted teeth. “What is yet another mark upon my reputation going to matter?”

 

Mr. Connington is turning red, or perhaps he already was before she arrived.

 

“Let him go.” Brienne rests her gloved hand upon Lord Casterly’s forearm.

 

Mr. Connington laughs. Not a happy laugh, but one laced with mockery.

 

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” Mr. Connington says, voice dry and choked. “Our wager is useless. You have already staked your claim.”

 

Lord Casterly lets go of Mr. Connington. But only to take a half-step away and punch Mr. Connington in the nose. Blood sprays down Mr. Connington’s starched white cravat. Brienne groans and holds a hand over her eyes.

 

“Meet me on the green at dawn,” Lord Casterly says, voice so quietly grave Brienne barely hears him.

 

“ _Lord Casterly_ ,” Brienne says, aghast that he is once again being the grandest fool in all of Westeros.

 

“Gladly,” Mr. Connington says, and with that departs.

 

Brienne steps in front of Lord Casterly, forcing him to look at her directly.

 

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she hisses at him. “You have already lost one hand in a duel and you intend to risk your life with your off-hand?”

 

“You don’t understand.” Lord Casterly merely looks upset now, the anger still apparent around the edges, but some other distress taking over.

 

“Nothing is worth your life.”

 

Brienne knows she’s exposing too much. She’s never been able to hide her emotions, they’ve always lurked just under the surface.

 

“This is.”

 

He turns his back and walks away from her.

 

\--

 

Brienne has no choice but to follow him the next morning. In the pre-dawn hours, she dresses in the breeches she had hidden at the bottom of her wardrobe. She sneaks out the front door, avoiding any servants that have woken early to begin making the bread for breakfast.

 

Brienne arrives before Lord Casterly, who arrives before Mr. Connington.

 

“What in the blazes are you doing here?” Lord Casterly somehow manages to look flummoxed and furious all at once.

 

“I’m saving you from yourself,” Brienne replies as he stomps toward her, shoulders back, fist clenched. “I won’t allow you to do this.”

 

“ _You_ won’t _allow_ me?” His voice is nearly mocking. “How do you intend to prevent me?”

 

“I will duel in your place.” Brienne sets her chin and squares her shoulders, refusing to be cowed by him. After all, she is taller than him. Perhaps she is also as strong as him, or nearly so.

 

“You will do no such thing.”

 

Brienne can barely contain her temper at the commanding tone Lord Casterly takes with her.

 

He’s in front of her now, so close she can feel his breath against her chin.

 

“I will,” she says firmly. “If you won’t allow me, I will simply have to restrain you so that you cannot interfere.”

 

Lord Casterly laughs then. Brienne’s temper, already barely restrained, boils over and she reaches out to twist his arm behind his back. He cringes, his eyes widening as the move brings his chest into contact with hers, his lips mere centimeters from her own.

 

Before he can do anything, Mr. Connington’s snivelling voice calls out across the field.

 

“So it was she that took you, not the other way around.”

 

Brienne is immediately consumed with a flush, one that burns her from the inside out with humiliation. She is not so innocent that she doesn’t understand what Mr. Connington means. It hits her in a wave that this is why Lord Casterly challenged Mr. Connington to the duel.

 

She whispers beneath her breath to Lord Casterly, “I believe even you could imagine that it is my right to teach Mr. Connington the lesson he clearly needs to learn.”

 

Brienne can see that lands with Lord Casterly, a begrudging respect and understanding on his face.

 

“Fine,” he says, his jaw clenching so hard that Brienne watches the muscles stand out from the early morning stubble. “But if you should die, I will not attend your funeral.”

 

Brienne can’t help but smile slightly at that. “I would expect no less, Lord Casterly.”

 

Brienne lets go of Lord Casterly’s arm, looking over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching Mr. Connington.

 

“I’m afraid you will have to face me across the field,” Brienne informs him. “Lord Casterly has agreed that it is my right to challenge the man who attempted to shame me in front of others.”

 

Mr. Connington looks shocked before falling into a smarmy smirk, pleased and puffed up like a peacock. “Of course, Lady Brienne.”

 

Brienne has no doubt that Mr. Connington intends to fire to miss her, assuming that she has no abilities with a firearm. He is sadly mistaken. Oh, she doesn’t intend to shoot to kill. Merely to shoot to injure him so that he never thinks of insulting her or any other woman again.

 

They set the rules, pace the correct number of steps from one another. They both turn and fire. His bullet flies wide. Hers shatters his left wrist. Mr. Connington looks surprised only for an instant before he collapses on the ground, screaming in agony.

 

Brienne likely should not be pleased. When she turns to Lord Casterly, he is smiling broadly at her.

 

“Marry me,” is the first thing he says.

 

Brienne’s eyes widen at him before it shortly sinks in that he’s simply teasing her, once again. It is not the first time he has caught her in an unladylike, improper activity only to propose marriage.

“I do wish you wouldn’t mock me,” she answers him.

 

There is something different in his face as he approaches her once again. He sinks to one knee and her breath catches in her throat.

 

“I will ask you again,” he says and his gaze is so genuine, so heartfelt, with no trace of his usual good humor and teasing. “Please, Lady Tarth, Brienne, my only true friend in this world, do me the honor of being my wife.”

 

“Lord Casterly, if this is a jest --”

 

“It is not,” Lord Casterly says emphatically. “What do I have to do to prove myself? Should I tell you that it has been many months since I found there was nothing I would rather look at than the blue of your eyes? That the first time I saw you hit bullseye after bullseye with your arrows that I knew then I would have to win your heart? That you are the only person I want to speak to? That I could spend the rest of my life teasing you and you biting back and never tire of it?”

 

As he speaks, Brienne’s eyes flood with tears. Her hand trembles as he takes it in his own.

 

“I will ask you one more time,” Lord Casterly continues. “If you say no, I will never mention it again, but I will remain your most devoted friend. Will you marry me?”

 

Brienne nods vigorously. “Yes,” she says quietly, tears finally spilling over and down her cheeks. Lord Casterly smiles as he never has before and Brienne thinks he will never be more handsome than he is in this moment.

 

“And for the love of the gods, will you please call me Jaime now?”

 

Brienne laughs wetly, only stopping when Lord Casterly -- _Jaime_ \-- stands and leans in to capture her lips in a sweet kiss.

 

 --

 

**2004**

The pain is the sort that’s blinding. The kind that makes Jaime wish he could vomit. The kind where it hurts so much it almost doesn’t hurt anymore. He wishes it didn’t hurt. But gods, does it. It’s pure agony. He can hear the man that ran him over frantically speaking to 911: “I hit him. I didn’t see him. I took a corner too sharply. Yes, he’s breathing. He’s conscious. There’s a lot of blood, but -- but I think I ran over his hand.”

 

Jaime can’t even feel his hand. There’s a strange, fiery numbness at the end of his right arm. He feels the broken ribs, the shoulder that impacted the pavement. His head is killing him--a sharp, breathtaking pain from his helmet colliding with the ground.

 

He must pass out at some point, because the next thing he knows, he opens his eyes and there’s an angel above him. It’s a shame; Jaime doesn’t want to die yet. He has a lot of things left to do. But, he supposes, no one has control over when their time is up.

 

His hearing slowly comes back to him, a calm but loud voice asking him if he can hear her.

 

“Yes,” he groans out.

 

The angel smiles just slightly at him. She’s haloed by the bright sunshine, it turns her blonde hair nearly white. And truly, he’s never seen eyes like hers. Kind and competent and the deepest blue imaginable.

 

But he’s still in terrible pain, his hand now in such agony he barely holds back from screaming. He must not be dead. People aren’t supposed to be in pain when they die. The angel isn’t precisely pretty, or not really pretty at all, but she is glorious.

 

She narrates the whole process to him, explaining what she and the other EMTs are doing, and telling him to hold on as they transfer him to a stretcher. He does call out then. She murmurs to him the whole time, telling him it’s almost over, informing him as she sticks an IV in his arm that she’s giving him pain medication. If he could move, he would kiss her.

 

“What’s your name?” he asks once he’s been loaded into the ambulance and she’s still by his side, hooking him up to monitors with a confident sort of efficiency.

 

She looks up at him. “Brienne.”

 

The pain medication is hitting him at this point, a warm numbness beginning to dull the excruciating pain to a mere agony.

 

“Brienne,” he slurs. The corner of her mouth turns up in a smile.

 

“Are you feeling any better?” she asks, her tone kind and soft.

 

“Yeah,” he says, the word dragging out of him, even his voice going languid. “I thought you were an angel.”

 

She laughs. “I think you’re the first person to ever accuse me of being angelic.”

 

“Mmm,” he hums. “But you were. The sun was shining and you helped me and your eyes are so blue I think you may be wearing contacts and your voice is so soothing and you saved me.”

 

“I didn’t save you, sir.” She tells him, but she’s still so gentle. Gentler than anyone has ever been with him, maybe. Gentler than his family, certainly. “I’m just a paramedic.”

 

“No, no, no. Saved me.” He is falling asleep, he knows. “Jaime,” he says, suddenly, knowing it’s important. “My name is Jaime.”

 

“Jaime,” she repeats, “go ahead and relax. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

 

“Go on a date with me,” he mumbles quietly. He’s not even sure he says it out loud. But then he hears her laugh, loudly, almost a cackle.

 

“Sure,” she says, a bit sarcastically. “If you still want to go on a date after you’ve recovered, find me.”

 

\--

 

Jaime recovers, mostly. Short one hand, but still alive, so he tries not to be too down on himself. Everything about his life that seemed difficult before--his family, his career, his horrific recent break-up--none of that seems particularly important anymore. He may not have his dominant hand anymore, but he has a new lease on life, they've made amazing strides with prosthetics these days, and he certainly has the money for extensive physical therapy.

 

But there’s one thing that plagues him: the miracle of a paramedic who saved him. She said that if he still wanted to ask her out when he recovered, he should find her, so find her he will.

 

It takes a while, and he’s not particularly proud of the fact that he pulls a few strings, and pays a bit too much for a search for her. But finally, he has his answer. Brienne Tarth, twenty-five years old, resident of Flea Bottom. He also finds out which ambulance service she works for.

 

He takes his chances, showing up on a random Tuesday, on a hope and a prayer that she’s working and not out on a call. There are a million reasons she might not be there.

 

But she is. He asks the first person he sees for Brienne, and though the guy raises a suspicious eyebrow he still calls out, “Brienne! Someone’s here for you!”

 

Jaime looks behind him to see a blonde woman, taller than he is, wearing a paramedic’s uniform. It’s unflattering, and now that he’s not concussed from being hit by a car, he can see that her nose has been broken and her face carries more than a couple scars. She wears no make-up and her mouth is too wide to be flattering. And she’s amazing.

 

“Hi,” he says with a smile.

 

She looks shocked to see him. It’s been several weeks, and she never told him how to find her.

 

“Uh, hi.” She awkwardly stuffs her hands in her pockets. “How did you find me?”

 

Jaime waves a hand. “I called in a couple of favors.” Her eyebrows lift nearly into her hairline at that.

 

“Okay,” she says, skeptical and maybe a little weirded out. “ _Why_ did you find me? Most people don’t bother to track down the paramedics.”

 

“You said I could ask you out on a date once I recovered, if I still wanted to.” Warmth floods him when her impossible, astonishing eyes widen and her cheeks flush so red it spills over her jaw and down her neck. He wants to find out how far under the shirt the blush extends. “Well, I want to ask you out on a date.”

 

“Are you _serious_?” she asks. She sounds genuinely incredulous.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer. “As long as you don’t mind driving.” He lifts the stump where his right hand once was. “I’m not quite up for driving myself yet.”

 

The fact that she doesn’t look at him with pity just reinforces that he was right about this, about her.

 

“Okay. I can do that.”

 

He grins at her and she smiles back tentatively. He reaches into his pocket and hands over the business card he stuffed in there.

 

“Can you write down your number?” he asks her, heart thrumming with nerves and excitement.

 

“Uh, yeah.” She still seems like she can’t quite believe any of this is happening. She retreats into the small office attached to the ambulance garage and comes back with a piece of paper clearly torn from a notebook.

 

Jaime takes it, scanning it. “I’ll text you,” he says. “In case you’re on a call. I hope you’ll answer.”

 

 

He smiles one more time before he walks away. This time she smiles back, still tentative but wide enough to show her teeth.

 

\--

 

**1570**

 

Brienne is being escorted back to her home by Sir Jaime Lannister. He’s an overtly handsome man,  almost problematically so. His jaw is sharp and with only a slight shadow of a beard, his eyes are the green of grass in the Spring, his hair a golden tumble of curls. In truth, he is far prettier than Brienne could ever dream of being.

 

He rides on his beautiful white horse beside her carriage. He has barely spoken ten words in sequence to her. She’s grateful because every time he does ask her a question, her tongue immediately ties into knots, her face turning crimson under his assessing gaze.

 

Brienne lets her head loll against the velvet-cushioned side of the carriage, allowing her eyes to drift closed. They are still hours from Evenfall Hall, and the book she brought has long since lost her interest.

 

\--

 

Brienne startles awake. She has no idea how long she’s been asleep, only that the sun has turned the golden pink of impending darkness. The sound of steel against steel rings in her ears, Sir Jaime’s commanding voice echoing in the clearing, though she can’t tell what he’s saying.

 

Without warning, the door to her carriage is flung open and a grimy hand drags her out by the arm. The dirty, foul-smelling man looks startled as she unfolds herself to her full height. She is taller than everyone else in the group, including Sir Jaime.

 

Sir Jaime is disarmed and surrounded by three bandits, with an additional six surrounding Brienne and the carriage. He looks embarrassed, angry, and frustrated. Perhaps a tad regretful, as well.

 

“Well, you’re a big bitch, aren’t ye?” The bandit that grabbed her asks. Brienne flushes, but with anger this time, and Sir Jaime lets out a warning growl.

 

Brienne draws herself up, lengthening her neck and setting her jaw in the mulish expression her Septa is constantly berating her for.

 

“I am Lady Brienne of Tarth and I demand you release me and Sir Jaime.”

 

The bandits all laugh.

 

“Well, Lady Brienne of Tarth,” one of the men holding Sir Jaime says, “you’re free to be on your way. It’s this one we need.” He twists Sir Jaime’s arm and Brienne watches as his face contorts in pain.

 

“Why do you need Sir Jaime?” Brienne feels her stomach sink. She has no idea how she’ll get home without him, or what could await her on the road unarmed and alone. “He is my escort and I’m sure you would not want a lady alone on the road in the dark of night.”

 

“We don’t care what happens to you,” another man says. “It’s of no interest to us. We mean to ransom this rich, pretty boy to his bastard father.”

 

Brienne stares at Jaime. She doesn’t trust that these criminals will truly leave him intact, and the odds of Tywin Lannister paying them are … slim. Even for his heir.

 

“You should leave, Lady Brienne,” Sir Jaime says. “There is an inn not far from here. If you take a horse, you should reach it before dark.”

 

Brienne looks at him, the worry etched on his features, how desperately he wants to fulfill his duty to her.

 

“I have one request,” she says, only looking away from Sir Jaime’s eyes after the words are out of her mouth.

 

“Yes, milady?” the man she presumes is the leader of this gang asks, sarcasm laced through his tone.

 

“I would request that I be allowed to carry my belongings.” She flicks her eyes back to Sir Jaime. “I would also request the use of a horse so that I may reach the inn before dark, and with the hopes of outrunning any other men with ill intent along the way.”

 

“You may have a horse,” the leader says. “As well as anything you can carry with you.”

 

With a burst of hope in her chest, Brienne has an idea. It is ludicrous and likely will never work. The bandits may kill them both dead for her presumption.

 

“ _Anything_ I can carry?” she asks slowly, carefully.

 

“Aye.”

 

Brienne stares Sir Jaime in the eye as she walks to him, stepping between the men that surround him. She bends, hooking one arm behind his knee, draping his arms around her shoulders. She stands with shaking legs and an aching back, the weight of him nearly too much for her. But she inches forward, Sir Jaime tense with shock.

 

There is a moment of extended silence before the leader begins laughing, a nearly hysterical cackle.

 

“Oh, fine, you bloody giant,” he says. “Take your wee man and get out of our sight before I change my mind.”

 

Brienne breathes a sigh of relief, but does not put Sir Jaime down until they reach his white steed.

 

When she finally sets him down, he steps in front of her and stares. He stares and stares, silently, and she feels a tremor of fear in her gut.

 

“You are --” Sir Jaime begins and then pauses. He cocks his head, his green eyes searching her face, darting from her brow to her chin and everywhere in between. “You are astonishing.”

 

Brienne does flush then and Sir Jaime traces the pink all the way to where it disappears beneath her bodice. This only makes her flush deeper. He finally drags his eyes back to hers, a rakish smirk on his lips.

 

“Allow me to help you onto the horse, my lady.” He extends his hand for her to take. She does and hopes he can’t feel the way her fingers tremble. “I’m afraid you will have to ride astride.”

 

For some reason, that makes his eyes twinkle even more.

 

“I have much practice riding astride, Sir Jaime,” she tells him softly. She doesn’t have time to explain that her father insisted that she learn both how to ride side-saddle and to ride as men do.

 

He laughs lightly. “I will keep that in mind.” Then he kneels beside the horse with that unsettling smile still tilting the corners of his mouth. He cups his hands for her to step into and boosts her onto the horse.

 

Brienne is fairly certain he eyes her bared ankle. She fears she will never stop blushing.

 

 

\--

 

**Now**

 

Jaime leans over Brienne, kissing her gently at first, and then more deeply. She’s sleep-warm and flushed, the side of her face creased from her pillow. Their breath may be stale, their hair askew, gel and hairspray making it stick in strange directions, but Jaime wouldn’t move on pain of death. Not with her beneath him, smiling so happily, so peacefully.

 

When he cups her cheek, the band on his ring finger glints in the sun, and even that makes him smile, makes his heart jump in his chest.

 

“Good morning,” he says, voice husky with sleep.

 

“Good morning,” she responds, an enormous grin spreading across her face.

 

“Promise me we don’t have to leave this bed today.” Jaime leans down, pressing kisses along her forehead, down her nose, across her cheek. He rubs his stubble lightly enough against her chin that it makes her giggle.

 

“We have to eat,” Brienne says, cupping the back of his head so he can’t pull away. “We should shower, too.”

 

“Not good enough reasons.” He kisses his way down her neck, setting his tongue against the marks he left the night before. “We’re on our honeymoon. Room service exists. I don’t plan on getting dressed today.” He leans close to her ear so his breath tickles her. “And I’ll be so disappointed if you put on clothes.”

 

Brienne blushes. Somehow, even after all these years, after the number of times they’ve made love, he can still make her flush with only a simple remark.

 

“Jaime,” she chides him. It’s half-hearted at best, her other hand already drifting down his spine, setting his nerve endings singing.

 

“Brienne,” he returns teasingly, smiling up at her from where he’s moved to kiss her shoulders and collarbone.  

 

Brienne rolls her eyes at him, but gasps as he continues slowly kissing further down her body. He pauses at her stomach, resting his chin just above her navel. He gazes at her, a feeling of complete _rightness_ taking over his body. Her brow furrows as he continues to simply stare at her, frozen in the moment, feeling as if the puzzle pieces of the universe are slotting together in his mind.

 

“What is it?” she questions, nervously pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

 

“I was just thinking how … how right this is.” He kisses her stomach where his chin rests, before lifting his face again. “I swear, I was meant to find you." He kisses to the left of her navel. “We were meant to find each other." He presses a kiss to the right. “I think we’re soulmates.”

 

Brienne laughs at that, rolling her eyes and letting her head fall back against the pillow. “Gods,” she murmurs to the ceiling. She cards her fingers through his hair, smiling gently when she sees the hurt expression on his face. “You are the most ridiculously, hopelessly romantic sap I’ve ever met.”

 

“You don’t think we’re destined to be together?” he asks, trying valiantly not to pout. He is a grown man, after all.

 

“I think --” Brienne pauses, tilting her head like she’s pondering how best to answer. “I think that you are the only man I’ve ever loved. I think you’re the only man I ever want to be with. But I think we earned our happiness. I don’t think it was only fate. I like to think we built this ourselves.”

 

Jaime smiles at that. He doesn’t completely agree with her, but he’ll let her have that. They did work for their happiness, through the trauma they both experienced, from families broken by death or divorce, to painful relationships. Still, they found each other by chance. Brienne’s work schedule changing so she was at the gym at a different time, Jaime running away from a terrible break-up to the other side of the city and joining her gym. They met when their eyes locked onto each other in the mirror while lifting weights.

 

Fate, Jaime thinks. Destiny that she ever trusted that he wants her. Kismet that she’s the only woman he’s ever wanted to be vulnerable for.

 

Yes, she’s wrong in this. They were meant to be together. He’s sure in any life, in any time, in any circumstance, they would find each other. He has time -- their entire lives -- to convince her of it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I considered cutting the mermaid one, but, frankly, I love it so I kept it.


End file.
